


Pretty Boy

by amyfortuna



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Virginity Kink, outdoor masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen indulges in a bit of fantasy just after meeting Aragorn for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [merryismaytime2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/merryismaytime2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Arwen finds herself intrigued after her first meeting with Aragorn.

Somehow the woodland lost part of its charm once he bowed low and departed. His face lingered in her mind overlong for such a trifle of a mortal boy. And yet - there was promise in it, something in the set of his chin, the way he squared his shoulders. He was well-trained in both book lore and a warrior's tools, of course - but so had they all been, all those sons of the Dúnedain, passing through Imladris for years uncounted. 

Fancy him mistaking her for Lúthien! Her laugh, sudden and bright, sent the birds scattering from the trees. Sinking to her knees in the green grass below the spreading boughs of a favourite tree, Arwen cast a bright glance after the pretty boy, making sure he was gone. Her heart was throbbing in her breast, and her breath was coming fast. 

She could not help undressing him in her mind. What if he had appeared before her, uncloaked, naked as the day he was born, wandering in the woodland? There was a version of the famous Tale where Beren had appeared so to Lúthien, his ragged clothes cast off, tall and strong, sunburnt and bearded. Though she had always wondered what the appeal there would be, suddenly Arwen saw it in a new light - a far more attractive one. 

Estel would be lovely with a few more years on him, longer hair, tanned skin, and perhaps even the faint scruff of a beard. She had seen few beards on Men in her time, and the idea of it was stirring to her, the thought of ripe red lips concealed a little by coarse hair, as though hiding a secret. When he pressed his mouth to hers, would she be able to feel the texture of it, brushing against her throat and chin? 

Her hand had drifted downward and was unconsciously pressed between her legs, through her skirts. The seam of her undergarments was caught between her nether lips and she was, without thinking, working it back and forth, sliding it over her clit. She caught her breath, realising what she was doing, then glanced around again. The birds were singing full-throated in the trees again, and she was alone with her thoughts. Here in this sun-dappled woodland, she would hear anyone approaching long before they could see her, but it was unlikely, pretty boy notwithstanding, that anyone would come here - she had just heard the midday bell, and most of the people in the Valley would be inside for the noon meal. 

She carried on, sinking down further into the grass, her back against the tree trunk. Her breath was beginning to come faster and her sex was swollen and eager, the cloth between her legs now slightly damp. 

What would he be like in the throes of passion? Would he be dominating or worshipful, tender or fierce? Would he undress her with hands so eager they trembled, or would he strip her garments from her smoothly, with the smile of someone well-versed in what they were doing? 

The tender tones of his voice rang in her memory, and she knew what he would do: touch her with warm hands, softly at first, as though she was made of priceless glass and would break. Over time his confidence would grow, but the first time they made love would be full of sweet worship on his part. She would take his hands in hers and guide him, young virgin that he was, into the full knowledge of how to caress a woman intimately. 

Eagerly, he would press his mouth to her breasts, lick them to hardness, suck at them. She could feel her nipples throbbing now, and her free hand rubbed at the swell of her nipple under her dress, making it peak, sending warm ripples of pleasure all through her. Her other hand was still working between her legs, and with a glance about just to ensure she was truly alone, she quickly slipped her hand beneath her skirts, letting out a quiet groan as her fingers slipped beneath her undergarments to directly slide over her clit. 

She was so wet, so hot, clit swollen and throbbing. It would not take much more for her to come - the delicious pleasure of touching herself like this in the open air combined with the heat of her imagination would bring her to her peak soon enough. 

Shivering, her fingers beginning a familiar rhythm, she slipped back into her thoughts. He would slide down her body, smiling, pressing kisses to the soft curve of her belly, the points of her hipbones, the heat of her mound. And she would spread her legs, placing a hand on his head, and coax him to lick her, give him softly-panted instructions on where to touch her, how to let his tongue, soft and wet, slide over the heat of her clit. 

And he would do it, over and over again, growing ever more eager the more he tasted her. His sweet lips and tongue would flicker over her clit, so maddeningly sensual, not quite hard or fast enough to bring her to pleasure, not quite yet. He would instinctively know how to prolong it until she was crying out from desperate need, and only then would he give her what she wanted, speeding up, harder, faster, driving her to her peak with unerring precision, his whole face buried in her and covered in her juices. 

Her fingers were fairly flying over her clit and she was moaning aloud, the sounds she was making - which anyone could have overheard - only bringing her closer. He would make her come, she would fall apart underneath him, and then he would look up, his mouth and chin shining - 

That thought sent her reeling. She gasped, brushing her fingers over her clit one more time, and exploded into ecstasy, bright and warm. It was as if her whole body soared upward, clenching at air, and she wrung it out as long as possible, eager moans spilling into the sun-dappled woodland, mixing with the birdsong. Her mind went blank with pleasure, and she dropped back limply against the tree trunk, breath coming in great gasps. 

For a long moment she drifted in some happy, hazy place, and finally withdrew her fingers from herself, licking them off, smiling at the familiar, faintly salty, taste of herself. She broke into a grin, amused at her own imagination. Of course he was just a pretty boy, and his obvious crush was sweet, and of course it would be wrong to take advantage of it. 

After all, she didn't love him back. 

A thought drifted through her mind, and lingered there, unexpectedly sweet.

She didn't love him back. Not yet. Not...yet.


End file.
